


Conversations with Alistair

by Ginger_kitty



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-27 04:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20401765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginger_kitty/pseuds/Ginger_kitty
Summary: A series of scenes prompted by the conversations my warden has with Alistair.





	1. First meeting

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

Given the scene I’ve just witnessed, I have to assume he’s joking. Needling an obviously harassed and exhausted looking mage on behalf of the Revered Mother, I assume I’ve come across a Templar. I’ve been all over this stupid camp, and still haven’t found this Alistair I was told to look out for. I have met my fellow potential Grey Wardens, however, and I can’t say I’m looking forward to having to ask either to help me; one all brawn and piety with little resembling thought about him, and judging where the other was talking to, I can only presume he thought I was a dwarf. Picking up a few bits and pieces left lying around has been the only useful part of the whole experience. Suddenly, I realise he was actually talking to me, and obviously expects a response.

“Sorry, what?”

"Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?"

“No, I’m not a mage. My name is Lady Rhiannon Cousland. Please forgive me, Ser Knight, I’m looking for a Grey Warden by the name of Alistair, do you know where I might find him? Duncan asked me to introduce myself and let him know we have returned.”

“Cousland? I apologise, my Lady, I should have recognised you. I’m Alistair. I was waiting for you both when the Revered Mother collared me. She’s a scary woman, you know. I thought I could run the message and be back before you arrived but Mage Grumps-a-lot had other ideas.” He rolled his eyes, “I’m sure she only sends me because she knows it annoys them. That’s the third time today I’ve had to deal with him, and this time he kept me waiting 20 minutes before he would deign to notice me. I should have kept my mouth shut but being surrounded by darkspawn, Duncan weeks overdue and now this… Well, keeping my mouth shut isn’t really one of my strengths.”

I’m surprised. Alistair has the manner and bearing of a Templar. Not only that, he’s young, probably only a few years older than me. I assumed the Grey Wardens were all older, the recruits certainly were. I was younger than Jory and Daveth by at least a decade. He looks abashed, I don’t know if it’s because of his behaviour towards the mage, or because he was caught at it, and there’s something of the puppy about him. He reminds me of Arawn, my Mabari, when Nan caught him in the kitchens again.

Thoughts of Nan bring a lump to my throat. I push it down, for weeks I’ve done nothing but alternate between sobbing out my grief and raging at the bastard Howe. The King has promised me justice, as did Teyrn Loghain. For now I need to push it aside. From the sounds of it, the battle here should be soon over and I can seek out my brother. I dread telling Fergus he is now Teyrn, dread telling him about Oriana and Oren even more, but the sooner it’s done the better. All my options now lie with the Grey Wardens, there is nothing left of me but duty and revenge and no room for crying in either.

"As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining." I nod, absently. Duncan is obviously too important and too busy. Since I know nothing of the ceremony, Alistair seems the obvious person to guide the three of us. “Let’s get on with it then,” I reply, “My fellow recruits were heading to Duncan, now we’re here. I get the impression there isn’t much time before the battle.”

Walking through the camp, half listening to his inane comments about women in the wardens and Duncan rescuing him from the Chantry (I knew he looked like a Templar), I consider Alistair. At 5 foot 2 I’m short for a woman and he towers above me, he must be well over 6 foot. His shoulders are broad, saving him from looking gangly the way tall men often do, and he is stunningly handsome. His features strike me as familiar but I can’t place them. I can tell he’s vain, he knows how he looks, and knows the women we pass turn to look at him. His hair sits a little too perfectly for a war camp and he has found time to shave, something few of the men here have done for some time. But he also has an air of innocence about him. His quips are graceless and slightly nervous and he seems embarrassed by the glances he attracts. Growing up in a chantry has left its mark it seems. He must be an excellent swordsman to have been chosen as a Templar, but innocence does not attract me. I draw my attention back to the camp and realise we have reached Duncan’s fire. Now it begins.


	2. The Locket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon has a gift for Alistair.

“This is my mother’s locket, but it’s not broken? Where did you find it?”

“I found it in Redcliffe castle, in the study.” I squirm, I know he doesn’t approve of my habit of ‘looking about’ for anything interesting. I thought about telling him that I found it on the road. The worthless, vicious part of me even wants to tell him it’s just a common trinket, a copper a dozen. But when I found it, I remembered how he looked when he told me about it. And how I had nothing of my mother’s to remember her by. His joking might be irritating, but it hides deeps wounds, bandaging over the scars left by a life of neglect.

“Arl Eamon must have repaired it, maybe he even brought it with him to the Chantry, but I wouldn’t even see him.”

“Perhaps you mean more to him than you think?” I only say it to make him feel better. I only met Eamon a couple of times, he’s a stiff-necked, controlling man, utterly besotted with his silly, vain wife. A vague dislike has hardened into definite loathing listening to Alistair tell stories of his youth. Telling a child he’s the son of a king, then making him sleep above the stables to rub in his lowly state, allowing his bitch of a wife to make a child’s life a misery then banishing him to a chantry at ten years old. Fixing a locket, or more likely getting a smith to fix it for him, was the least he could do. And if Alistair wouldn’t see him, he should have made sure the boy had his mother’s locket by some other means. My platitude works though, Alistair looks pleased. I’m depressed by his innocence and good nature but truthfully, it’s a little endearing too. He always sees the best in people, even people like me, and it’s hard to ignore that.

“I need to go, I have something for Leliana too,” I mutter. “I found the flowers she was talking about, Andraste’s Grace, they were growing beside the mill.” He smiles. Apparently it’s sweet that I give gifts to my companions. It’s not sweet, I simply have nothing else to give them. A found locket, or a bouquet of wildflowers, is pitiful for people who have saved my life, and I suspect are saving my sanity. I stole some cookies from the Arl’s kitchen for Sten and a very pretty necklace I know Morrigan will love. 

“Thank you, for remembering.” I look up at him, dazzled again by his good looks and now I see what I thought was familiar when we met. His brother had similar features, but Alistair’s stronger jaw and deeper blue eyes are more masculine, more appealing. His personality is as well. I want to tell him that he’s special, I want to undo some of the damage the idiots in the castle behind us did. I wish I had my brother’s easy charm, or my father’s way with people, they always said the right thing. Instead I offer the only thing I can,

“You’re a friend. Of course I remembered.”


	3. Never Have I Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This conversation doesn't go quite as it does in the game.

I think I might die laughing. For once everything seems to be going right. Eamon is awake so hopefully he’ll be useful at some point, and the Circle are under control and have pledged their support. We even managed to save Eamon’s son, Connor. I couldn’t look at him without seeing Oren’s broken body, lying in a pool of blood, I would have done anything, even let him stay possessed, rather than cut down the abomination that looked like a child. Thankfully, Morrigan saved me from making that choice, as she so often does, by risking herself in the Fade to save the child’s soul.

Sitting by the campfire, listening to Leliana’s beautiful voice, soaring above Zevran’s rich baritone, I can finally relax a little. The song they’re singing is more than a little risqué and the chorus is so simple Morrigan and I have no problem joining in, her voice hesitant but surprisingly sweet while my alto sounds less like a dying crow than usual. Zevran, of course, then bring the tone down even further by suggesting a game, a drinking game I had heard the soldiers playing at Highever, but one they would hastily change when they saw the daughter of their Teyrn grinning at them and asking to join in. It always starts innocuous enough, but doesn’t stay there long and sure enough soon only Leliana and Zevran are really in competition while Morrigan and I look on as their exploits get more and more extreme.

It’s time for my watch, so it’s a good job I haven’t really had that much to drink. I never thought of myself as innocent but I obviously have a fair bit of catching up to do. I look around, spotting Sten immediately and nodding to him, indicating he should get Zev moving before another bottle of brandy is opened. I can’t see Alistair at first, I sat too near the campfire and my eyes need to adjust. Finally I see him, leaning against a tree, looking out into the forest. He must be able to hear me but he keeps looking away. When I get closer I realise why. Sound carries well from the campfire and the puppy is blushing, actually blushing! He looks at me and blushes even more, even the tips of his ears are bright red. He’s a soldier, surely he must have…no of course not, how stupid of me.

“If you were raised in the Chantry, have you never...?” I’m cursing my stupid mouth before the sentence is out. 

“Never...? Never what? Had a good pair of shoes? Have I never seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?” He’s almost defiantly stubborn about misunderstanding me. I’ve embarrassed him and I wish I could sink into the ground but I’ve had too much brandy and I can’t seem to control my mouth.

“Now you’re making fun of me!” 

“Make fun of you, dear lady? Perish the thought. Well tell me: have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?” Now he’s annoyed, pushing himself upright away from the tree and I’m sure he’s about to walk away, furious at me for once, although I’ve given him far more reason in the past. I try to lighten the mood with humour.

“I've licked my share of lampposts and then some.” Wrong choice, I think, as he tenses up more. I’m never drinking Antivan brandy with that damn elf again. 

Alistair’s face has completely closed down and I think he’s going to walk away until suddenly he answers, “I myself have never had the pleasure, not that I haven't thought about it, of course, but... You know.” I do know. I know he spent years in the chantry, I know he had no friends, no comrades, that he spent most of his time being punished for never being enough for everyone else. I feel sick at playing this silly game, for not shutting my big, drunken mouth when I should have.

I grab the sozzled idiot I’ve become before I can say anything more stupid and try to shake the brandy haze. “Alistair, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be flippant. It’s just…” I trail off because really there’s nothing I can say to make this better, although I can think of plenty to make it worse, like telling him it’s cute he’s a virgin. “You should go, get some rest. I’ll stay here on watch and tell myself all the ways I’m a stupid, insensitive bitch, since you’re too nice to do it yourself.” He relaxes a little and comes closer, putting his hand on my arm.

“It’s ok, Rhia. It’s fine, honestly. Besides, it’s usually me walking about with foot permanently in mouth. Maybe I deserve to be on the receiving end.” I disagree immediately. He’s never been cruel or callous, at worst a little naïve or thoughtless. I appreciate that more and more. He reminds me of…someone I used to know.

“I thought nobles were all about chivalry and chaste ladies anyway,” he said, grinning slightly at me so I know he forgives me.

“You read too many bad romances,” I sigh. “The common folk like to think their nobles are actually, well, noble. But I doubt there’s one of us who’s above 15 and still a virgin.” He looks stunned and I don’t want him to think any less of me, so I try to explain. “Being a noble is like being a racehorse. Our whole reason for being is to breed more racehorses. Every family wants a son to carry on the name and keep the lands, and a daughter to marry well and expand their wealth, land, influence or all three. Too many sons or daughters can be as bad as none in some ways.”

“My parents were unusual. They married for love and if my grandfather had been alive it would never have happened. But my father was the Teyrn so he did as he pleased. And both Fergus and I was raised knowing that wasn’t likely to be an option for us. Fergus married Oriana to consolidate my father’s position as ambassador to Orlais, it was only luck that they fell in love later, when Oren was born.” I close my eyes against the memories, hoping one day I could think of my family without pushing them away. I opened them to look at Alistair, listening quietly with that sad, serious look on his face, the one usually hidden by his jokes and dramatics.

“I fell in love, and we both knew it would never be. He was a knight in my father’s service, his father Bann of an area barely the size of Highever. So we took whatever time we could get together, until my brother found out. Even if we aren’t ‘chaste’ we’re expected to be discreet. And I wasn’t. I thought I could make my parents accept our marriage and he was too kind to tell me I was an idiot. Fergus - had words with him. And after that everything was different, he was kind, polite, he deferred to the daughter of his lord, and he made sure we were never alone together again.” I’m surprised by how much that still hurt. “After that I had affairs, men, women, whoever took my fancy at the time. But they never lasted long and I made sure I played the game the way I was supposed to.” I’m on a roll now, and I don’t think I want to tell Alistair this, I don’t want him to be disappointed in me, in the coward I am, but it’s coming out anyway.

“The night Howe attacked. I wasn’t alone in my bed. A friend, and occasional lover was visiting. It was a game we played. Whoever won on the training field that day had to be seduced by the loser. We were so evenly matched it was a toss-up. I lost, because I was distracted with everything happening and managed to persuade him to join me later, with his mother’s pretty elven lady in waiting. They were killed, in my room, while I tried to defend them against Howe’s men. We went to the hall, my mother and I, and he was there, he led the defense, he rallied the men to hold the castle long enough for…for me to run away. I… since then…well…” I trail off, not sure what I’m trying to say. I’ll never again let anyone that close. I’m no longer a Cousland, I’m a Grey Warden. Unable to hold land, barren, of no use to anyone except as a weapon against the Blight. I look up and hate the sympathy I see in his eyes. He always seems to understand the things I don’t say better than I do myself.

He doesn’t say anything at all. Just pulls me into a tight hug before gently kissing the top of my head and heading off to his tent. I stare into the dark, tears running down my face.


	4. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What dream would have kept the Warden in the Fade?

“With the Blight coming and everything, I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to see her. Maybe I can help her, warn her about the danger, I don't know.”

“If you want to, we could try.” Really, I want to ask him what he thinks she’ll do when her bastard half-brother turns up at the door, that’s assuming we have time for side trips – I have no intention of being in Denerim any longer than I have to be. Unless I happen to come across Rendon Howe, of course, then I might just be there a while. But Alistair’s resemblance to a puppy makes me curb my tongue at lot more than I do with the others. A resemblance very much helped along by the way he’s currently wrestling on the ground with Arawn. I sigh and roll my eyes, “If he eats you, it’s your own fault.” Something tickles my memories, something about Alistair and his family, but I can’t quite think what so I wander off to give Morrigan the mirror I found in Orzammar for her.

It comes back to me later, when we’re all sitting round the fire eating stew that thankfully neither Alistair nor I made. I don’t know whether to ask him there, he doesn’t like talking about private things where others can hear, so I wait until it’s our turn to stand guard.

“Your sister, she was in your dream in the Fade? When the sloth demon caught us I found you with her, not with her obviously, but the demons were trying to look like her and her children?” He nods. He’s still embarrassed about how hard it was to pull him out of the dream but now I understand why and as irritating as Alistair is when he’s embarrassed I can’t blame him for wanting to be with his family.

“It’s stupid…” “No, Alistair, it’s not stupid!” I snap at him and as usual he looks hurt. Which does nothing for my temper. “It’s not stupid to want a family, it’s not stupid to want people who care for you, nor is it stupid to mourn someone who was more of a father than either the idiot sperm donor who made you or the bigger idiot who completely screwed up raising you. It’s not stupid to want to help people and do the right thing, and it’s not stupid to be the only person in this camp who thinks sex isn’t how you fill that void. It’s not stupid to not want to lead, or be king, or be everyone’s last, great, fucking hope for there to be any kind of tomorrow at all.” I’m almost screaming now, and I know everyone in the camp can hear me but I don’t care. “And if you or any other one of these bastards ever call you stupid again you’ll wish the darkspawn had caught you.”

I have to leave, get away because I really, really want to slap him for being such a damn puppy and letting everyone, including me, walk all over him. One of the others can take my watch, since they’re awake. I grab my daggers and bow and go hunting. Food or darkspawn, either will do, I just really, really want to kill something right now.

A few hours later I’m filthy, exhausted and have enough meat for at least the next week. I also feel like more of a bitch than usual and for once it bothers me. It’s tempting to dump the kill and see if Zev fancies a swim in the pool I found about an hour ago, or possibly Leliana. Neither of them are shy about coming forward when they fancy some stress relief or decide that I could do with some. Instead I start cleaning the carcasses, throwing the entrails to Arawn and putting the furs to the side for tanning. It’s getting colder, up in the mountains we’ve already seen some snow and winter will hit the bannorn long before we’re ready to face the blight. I ignore Alistair as he sits beside me and starts to clean out a hare. It’s almost dawn, he should be sleeping, his watch finished hours ago, but I know there’s no point drawing attention to it, he’ll make a stupid joke and do whatever he likes anyway.

“It wasn’t your dream, was it?” he murmurs, “That’s why you made it out so easily, because the demon picked up the easiest thoughts on the top of our heads. I was thinking about my family, Wynne was worried about the mages, Morrigan was obviously thinking about her mother because she wanted you to look for that stupid book. And you were thinking about the Blight, about the fact that everywhere we go there’s more complications, more things holding us up, more war and death.” I close my eyes against the truth. This is the Alistair I actually like, behind the jokes, the vanity, the clownishness there’s a man who is perceptive, kind, strong. He can debate philosophy with Leliana, discuss history or the sciences with Wynne and thrash every one of us in training, even Sten. I can talk to this Alistair without wanting to kill him or let him sleep at my feet beside Arawn.

“It wasn’t my dream,” I agree. “I only have one dream that isn’t a nightmare. I dream the Blight is over and amid all the cheering Fergus appears. He tells me our parents survived, that Rod…Ser Gilmore survived. That while I was running away with Duncan my family were rescued, that Castle Cousland is intact and I can go home.” I open my eyes and look at him. “I never saw them die, Duncan – he insisted we leave. I promised to become a Grey Warden to save my mother and then she wouldn’t leave my father. So I left, I should have stayed but I ran. And in this dream, everything is ok, because they didn’t really die, so I’m not really a coward, and I can go home.”

He looks as if he might say something, then closes his mouth again. We finish our work and he takes some strips of meat and puts them on the fire for everyone’s breakfast. Then he turns to me.

“If I promise not to call myself stupid again, you have to promise not to call yourself a coward. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met, and I’m glad Duncan saved you. I hope one day, you will be too.” Then he orders me to wash and sleep, we’re having a rest day to smoke all the meat and move tomorrow. He’s better than he thinks at taking charge.


	5. A Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden and Alistair marrying makes perfect sense, even if they aren't in a relationship at this point in the game.

“So, strange story, tell me if you’ve heard this one? This fellow gets made king, and engaged, all on the same night!”

He’s pissed. I’ve never actually heard this tone before and I’ve spent a lot of time with Alistair annoyed at me. Far more than I really had to, if I’m being honest. Our stalwart companions are shuffling out the door, everyone except Morrigan avoiding my eyes. Morrigan just smirks because she’s the only one that knows the whole story. I know she’ll want to catch up later and hear every detail, besides she has something to tell me too. First I have to deal with my fiancé. I take a deep breath and wrap myself in being a Cousland, the way I did in front of the Landsmeet. I can’t afford to mess this up and I can’t let my temper get in my own way as usual. I have to explain it clearly and calmly and hope I haven’t just destroyed one of the few friendships I have left.

“I didn’t want to be King, I told you that. I thought we agreed to let Anora have the throne, I thought that was the plan?” His face is drawn, already marked with the stress of being responsible not just for ending the Blight but for a whole country that has fallen apart over the last year. That’s how I know he’ll be a great king. He appreciates responsibility in a way neither Cailan, Anora nor Loghain ever did. I know he’ll resent me for forcing him to execute Anora, it will take him years to understand why, if he ever does, he was deliberately kept from the nobility and he doesn’t understand the game. Fereldan nobility aren’t as bad as the Orlesians but it’s the difference between a genlock and a hurlock, rather than between a lapdog and a mabari. I’m trying to piece my thoughts together while I stare at his ears. Angry, embarrassed or doubled up with laughter his ears turn bright pink. I wonder if other emotions would do that too? I realise it’s silent, he looks like he’s about to walk out the door so I’d better open my mouth and say something before it’s too late.

“I went to Anora,” I say, starting far too quietly so I have to start again. He’s still unhappy but sits in a nearby chair, willing to listen, always ready to listen to what people have to say. “I went to Anora, to offer her the throne in return for support against the Blight. On the way, Eamon asked me to propose something else to her.” I close my eyes because he really won’t want to hear this bit.

“Eamon wanted her to support your claim, with the reward that she would remain Queen – as your wife.” When I open them, he looks completely closed off, I can’t tell what he’s thinking which means he knew about this, and probably said no which was why Eamon had to accost me in my room, instead of in the library where we usually met. The lack of response actually makes it easier to keep speaking and I smooth out my skirts, wishing I was in my usual armour, or at least a tunic and trews. “She initially didn’t seem too keen on the idea, she outright asked if I was going to stay on as your mistress,” My face is burning now, Anora’s tone and comments were sly and deliberately humiliating, and even if that had been my plan, that ship has sailed. I’ve avoided closeness with Alistair so many times, he gave up trying months ago. “You’ll be surprised to hear I managed to keep my temper enough not to stab her, but I told her you would make a far better ruler than she and I would support you before anyone. But she changed her mind too quickly, suddenly agreeing to support you because she wanted what was best for the country, even though 5 minutes ago she was convinced she was the best. So I left it, I didn’t apologise and I didn’t let her think we were planning to support her anyway. I wanted to see what she would do.”

“Remember, I’ve known Anora since we were children. If she had been 15 and I 18 when Cailan ascended the throne I would probably have been Queen instead, since we’re the daughters of the only two remaining Teyrns in Fereldan. When Anora thinks she’s right a horde of darkspawn couldn’t shift her. She changed her mind too quickly.” Although I really didn’t think she would have thrown her support to Loghain. I’d hoped to use his knowledge against the Blight, even persuade him to join the Grey Wardens to atone for his crimes. But Anora’s actions meant I couldn’t, even when Riordan suggested the same thing. Her support sentenced her father, and herself, to death. His was fast, as painless as I could make it. She sits in a tower, awaiting justice that is long overdue.

“She knew, Alistair, she knew more about what was going on in the country than she let people believe. I broke into her study, there were reports on her desk going back months. She’s 23, she didn’t need a regent, she needed a fall guy and if you had married her, you might not have lasted the 5 years Cailan did. The contract with the Crows had both our names on it, in Anora’s hand, although Zev assures me he was only given my name and description when he dealt directly with Loghain.”

“But Eamon and Anora were both right. I know the nobility in this country, they are outraged at the moment, desperate for some kind of normality and a promise of a hero saving them from the Blight. As soon as that passes, they’ll start mentioning your birth, your upbringing. You look even more like Maric than Cailan did, but there will be rumours that there’s only the word of a serving girl of who your father is, your mother’s name will be dragged through the mud as they jockey for control or an alternative heir. You have no idea the shit Anora took because her father started life as a farmer. But the Couslands were here before there even was a Fereldan and every one of them knows it. There is not a single woman out there, not even Anora, who outranks me in this country, I can give you the legitimacy your father couldn’t. I know you don’t want to be King but I can advise you, make things as easy as I can with the court, do as much or as little of the work as you want me to do. I think you’ll be an amazing king, you don’t need me for that, but there’s a whole load of court bullshit that I can help you with.”

“But you don’t have to marry me. If we survive the Blight I’ll help you anyway I can. You can call off the engagement, or let it run along without a set date until you find someone you want to marry. If we do wed, I won’t hold you to anything, there are separate quarters, we don’t need to spend any more time together than necessary…” I stop, I’ve run out of all the excuses I can give him and I can’t really explain the rest, I don’t know how. So I sit in a chair facing him, waiting for judgement.

His tone is hard, cold, when he finally responds. “So I marry you to consolidate my throne, end the Blight, put Fereldan back together while you deal with the backstabbing nobles and we blame the lack of an heir on the taint I presume? Meanwhile I keep my eyes out for an alternative wife who may or may not be able to provide me with children and then put you aside on grounds of barrenness?” I should have known he wouldn’t go for it. He’s too bloody noble. In fact if the nobility were as noble as this man, I wouldn’t even need to make the offer. They would see immediately how perfect he is, how much he cares. But if that were the case my family would be alive and Fereldan wouldn’t be in ruins, overrun by darkspawn. “And your reason for proposing this in front of the Landsmeet and not, say, discussing it with me in private was because you were waiting to see if Anora was a snake or not, which we already knew, and if she was just out for herself? You couldn’t prepare me? Or talk to me about it, even about the fact that Eamon tried to bargain me off as marriage potential when I’d already told him no?” I’m staring at the floor as he goes through all the reasons I should have talked to him about it while I wonder why I didn’t just do that in the first place.

I stand, planning to leave, even though it’s my room. I’m sure Morrigan, or even Leliana, will find room for me. I’ve messed this up, as usual. We’ll face the Blight, then I’ll go to Weisshaupt. I try to smile, “Never mind, your Majesty, I might not even survive. Then you can use our relationship to do all those things without the inconvenience of actually having to put up with me.” I start to walk towards the door when he stands up and grabs me, pulling me into one of those bear hugs I love, where all I can hear, see, smell and feel is him, and the whole world disappears. It’s too much and I don’t want to start crying so I try to push him away but the daft man won’t let me go and I don’t have the strength, or the will, to make him.

“What happened to marrying for love, doing more than just breeding more noble racehorses?” he whispers to me. “What if you find someone else, and you’re tied to me instead? Can’t you support me without marrying me? You’re my best friend, Rhia, I don’t want a miserable, empty marriage of convenience for you.” He laughs gently, “I don’t want it for me either, but I don’t think anyone will be queuing up to marry a battered, scarred bastard, even if he is the king. But you could do so much better…”

Now I actually do push away and he lets me go. I’m furious with him now and he’s just staring at me, stunned, so completely oblivious of how stupid his words are.

“Is that a joke?” I ask, pointing to the scar running down the side of my face, the one that almost took my eye out, my face opened from brow to jaw by the ogre so that even Flemeth could do little more than close it and hope for the best. “Who would look at me, like this? Men show off their scars, boast about them, women are reviled for them. How do you think I would actually find someone who wanted me, skinny, scrawny, ugly. And if someone could look past all that, then he comes up against my temper, my completely inappropriate sense of humour, the fact I’m essentially barren for all we know and if he is stupid enough to love me, I’ll be unlikely to make it to 50 anyway so no happy ending there.” He’s stammering, trying to rephrase his words, to defuse the temper I’ve literally just complained about. I feel like such a bitch, again.

“I’m sorry, Alistair. You and Morrigan are my only true friends. You’ve been right beside me through this past horrible year. I want to help you, to show you how much you mean to me. I want to protect you from those bloody vultures out there. And I want you to know, I won’t hold you back, when you find someone special, someone who can give you everything you deserve, you can put me aside and I’ll go to Highever, or Weisshaupt, or anywhere, so you can be happy.”

He’s staring at me intensely and I know immediately I’ve said far too much. He steps forward and lifts my chin gently, but firmly, so I have no choice but to look at him.

“Rhiannon Eleanor Olivia Cousland, you are the most special person I know. You are beautiful, graceful, kind, caring, loyal and scarily intelligent. You got that scar when you saved my life at Ostagar, I can never look at it and not be grateful that it wasn’t worse, every day I think I should bear it, not you. And not because it makes you less beautiful, because it doesn’t, but because I wish I bore every one of your scars so you didn’t have to. Because I know you hate looking in a mirror and I wish you could see what I see when I look at you, the most amazing person I have ever met.”

“I would be honoured to marry you. But I won’t accept a marriage of convenience. Let me woo you, show you how much I love you. If you can accept me as your husband, your genuine, loving, _bed sharing_ husband, then I’ll agree to marry you. You’ve been through so much, you deserve everything I can give you and more. Let me prove that to you..”

I can’t listen any more. My friend, my only love, loves me. I can’t explain how much hearing it means to me, all I can do is pull his lips down to mine.

Much, much later, he murmurs, “I’ll take that as a yes then.”


End file.
